


Blank Canvas

by Aspergirl



Category: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sudden smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 13:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13502822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspergirl/pseuds/Aspergirl
Summary: Once SpongeBob got involved in Squidward's love life, he just wouldn't stay out of it. Even though Squidward hates to admit it, he needs all the help he can get when it comes to proving himself to Squilliam once and for all.





	1. Two Angry Cephalopods

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anyone or anything, just the way I put the words together. Now relax, have a bon-bon, and enjoy.

Ah, darkness falls in Bikini Bottom. It is now that we may witness some of the most mysterious undersea occurrences of all: the courtship and mating rituals of the _Octopus cyanea_.

 

Squilvia stared at her reflection and sighed. "I guess you can't fault someone for wanting to look their best. But we're going to be late for sure." She looked at her watch for what felt like the millionth time. "Better call him again to let him know." Retrieving her shell phone from her purse, she dialed Squidward's number.

 

"H--"

 

"Squidward, will you hurry up? I've been standing outside for almost an hour! We're going to miss the performance!" She looked past her reflection and into Squidward's downstairs window. He was nowhere to be seen.

 

Thrown off by the interruption, Squidward faked a smile to give his response as pleasant a tone as he could manage. "I'll be down... in just a second..." He placed a top hat on his head, grimaced, and swapped it for a black toupee.

 

"Whatever," sighed Squilvia, hanging up. “He's got one more minute and that's it.”

 

"Hello?.... nobody." Squidward went back to frantically trying to style his toupee, but covering his whole head believably was no easy task. "Oh, doesn't she know she can't rush perfection? She's the one who's been trying to grow her white-plumed anemone garden and has barely gotten them to sprout."

 

Toupee placed just so, Squidward looked himself over in the mirror once more. No, twice. _Perfection is ready. And his name is Squidward Tentacles._

 

In the mirror, he noticed movement outside. Squilvia was heading up the walkway towards the road. "Oh, shrimp!" Squidward held his toupee in place and dashed out the door, planting himself in front of Squilvia. He was met with the same dour expression and crossed arms as before their previous date.

 

"Oh, so you're coming after all."

 

Beads of sweat formed on Squidward's forehead. He gestured to his boat, parked across the street. "Shall we?" he asked in a voice that came out shakier than he had hoped.

 

"Alright." Her expression softened. As he opened the door for her, Squidward realized that he had been holding his breath, and he gasped.

 

When Squilvia gave him an odd look, he responded glibly, "I just can't believe how breathtaking you look tonight." His slow start seemed to be forgotten. Getting into the driver's seat, he adjusted his mirrors, his gaze lingering on his own image in the rear view mirror.

 

Squidward was vaguely aware that Squilvia was talking, but he only heard snippets between his inner monologue.

 

_Well done, Squidward._

 

"...you, but I won't let it ruin..."

 

_You are certainly a refined gentleman._

 

"...been looking forward to..."

 

_The squid with the silver tongue._

 

"...such a talented actor. I can't..."

 

_Anyone would be proud to show you off tonight. Especially..._ His heart stopped. Over his shoulder in the rear view mirror, he noticed a yellow square bounding closer. Over Squilvia's voice, he heard "Squidward! Squidward!"

 

_SpongeBob. No. No. No! No!_ "NO!!!"

 

Squilvia started. "What?"

 

Squidward stepped on the gas and the boat zipped and zigzagged around several corners to lose the sponge. When a red light finally forced Squidward to screech to a stop, he checked all of his mirrors, as well as the back seat, just in case. He sighed and calmly extended his arm around the back of Squilvia's seat. "Ahhh, this evening is going to be just f--" His breath hitched again upon seeing her. Black hair windblown and tangled up around her nose. Cloche hat blown off, gone to Neptune knows where. Face strained in a mixture of nausea and frustration. "Heh heh," he chuckled nervously, sweeping a strand of hair away from her eyes. "You look... so... fierce! Remember when Lady Orca had this style?" He hummed one of Lady Orca's peppy singles, but trailed off when Squilvia's expression did not change.

 

But at least SpongeBob was nowhere to be seen.

 

The rest of the trip to the theatre was uneventful, even though Squilvia spent all of it in stony silence. Squidward tried to think of the right thing to say, but figured it would come to him. It wasn't until they had passed through the glass doors and were standing in line for admission. "So... have you seen '12 Angry Jellyfish' before?"

 

Squilvia uncrossed her arms. "I've seen the original film and the remake, but this is my first time seeing it on stage."

 

"How about that? Me too."

 

"Are you planning on getting out the tickets?"

 

"Tickets. Yes! I have them... right..." Squidward checked his trouser pockets, the pocket inside his jacket, then fished around in his cummerbund. _Irony couldn't possibly be this cruel. Oh wait, yes it could._ "I know I put them..."

 

With a heavy sigh, Squilvia looked at the large "sold out" sign over the ticket counter. "I should have just bought a ticket myself. Maybe I could have gotten a front row seat."

 

_I would have gotten front row tickets if my cheapskate boss paid me a living wage. Sorry for needing to feed myself._ He frantically patted himself from his collar to his shoes. As Squidward was checking each of his suction cups one at a time, Squilvia noticed a yellow hand rising from Squidward's breast pocket. Clasped in it were two tickets.

 

"Umm, Squidward?" she asked, pointing.

 

"Huh?" He looked down to see the hand. "Gah! That's right, I put the tickets in... my corsage." Squidward pulled the tickets from the hand and spread the fingers to resemble a flower. Although skeptical, Squilvia took comfort when the tickets were accepted. The clerk handed each of them a playbill. "Well, my dear, shall we..." Another yellow hand emerged from between Squidward's legs, holding a mangled fabric object. Squidward screamed and tossed the playbill across the room, where it hit a green striped fish in the face.

 

Squilvia recoiled, then examined the object. "Is that my hat?"

 

"Yes... no... umm..." stammered Squidward.

 

Hesitantly, Squilvia touched the hat. It had clearly been run over and smelled undefinably awful. "Thanks, but you can keep it." She wasn't entirely sure whether she was talking to Squidward or the owner of the hand.

 

SpongeBob's face popped out of Squidward's cummerbund. "Gee, thanks! This warm fuchsia is just great for me; I'm a spring! You look like a winter. Try sticking to jewel tones."

 

"SpongeBob! Would you get out of there?"

 

The sponge complied, withdrawing his arms and wiggling his way out of Squidward's suit, sending a shiver through the octopus's body. "Sorry I took your corsage. Do you want it back?" SpongeBob put the remains of the purple hat on his head and snapped his arm off at the shoulder, offering it to Squidward.

 

"I'll pass!" Squidward growled through clenched teeth. SpongeBob shrugged his remaining shoulder, then twisted the arm back into place. When SpongeBob looked up again, he spotted Squidward trailing behind Squilvia into the auditorium. SpongeBob scurried after them only to be pushed out of the auditorium by a tentacle. Squidward positioned himself at eye level with SpongeBob and hissed, "Get. Lost."

 

"Pfff," SpongeBob waved his hand. "I don't have time to get lost, silly. The show's about to start." The sponge held up a playbill of his own.

 

"You can't be serious."

 

"It wasn't my idea. It was Patrick's ticket, but he had an emergency today, so he let me have the ticket instead! Isn't that the nicest thing?"

 

Meanwhile, Patrick was sitting at the doctor's office with a stiff expression on his face. An anchovy nurse approached him. "Sir, it looks like you are in a lot of pain. Can I help you?"

 

Patrick moved only enough to speak. "I know the pointy things on that clock move. Today is the day I will see it happen."

 

"Sir, how long have you gone without blinking?"

 

"I dunno."

 

The nurse was visibly frustrated. "What do you mean 'I dunno'? You've been staring at a clock!"

 

"How would that tell me anything? Man, I thought you had to be smart to work in a place like this." As the nurse stomped away, Patrick blinked. "Darn! I missed it." He slouched back into the chair. "I hope SpongeBob is having a better day than I am."

 

SpongeBob was, and reached for Squidward's arm, but Squidward pulled away. "Don't touch me!" With that, Squidward hurried to find his seat next to Squilvia.

 

"Alright. See you later!" SpongeBob chirped, waving his hand with wiggly fingers. He looked at his ticket. "Hmm. Now to find seat 21 ZZZ."

 


	2. Curtains

The lights were dimming as Squidward located Squilvia and took his seat next to her. _Just in time, and no SpongeBob in sight!_ He turned to Squilvia with a cautious smile. She looked back. _Is that a smile?_ The lights dimmed further. _Should I? I should. I_ _ **am**_ _the sizzle-lips squid._ He closed his eyes and leaned in.

 

"Death by harpoon, tipped with jellyfish venom. This is a crime of unspeakable cruelty." Squidward jumped at the powerful voice of the blue tang on stage draped in judge robes, and he opened his eyes. Squilvia was sitting tall, full attention on the performance. Squidward sank back into his seat, sheepishly wringing his tentacles. The judge continued. "It is now up to these 12 gentlemen to determine the fate of the accused."

 

A wobbly whine began to interrupt the somber proceedings. The sound was so soft at first that it was difficult to say when it began. But it suddenly burst from a whine into noisy sobs. Unfortunately, it was a sound that Squidward knew all too well. _Maybe SpongeBob just stubbed his toe and he'll quiet down._ A frustrated Squilvia's hands hovered next to her ears, as she was unable to decide whether to block out the noise or try to hear the dialogue. _Please, please quiet down._

 

Just then, a wave of tears swept down the center aisle. Fins and feet were lifted from the floor as the tears flowed by. Floating on the tears was SpongeBob, who came to a stop, still wailing, next to Squidward. "Oh, Squidward! How could anyone use jellyfish for evil? They're so gentle and pure!"

 

Squidward rolled his eyes. _I beg to differ._

 

SpongeBob tried to stand up, but collapsed forward in a teary pile, arms hugging Squidward around the neck. "And a harpoon is like a hook except way worse!"

 

Squeezing SpongeBob's lips closed with a tentacle, Squidward scolded, "Will you shut your noise pore? If you can't make it through the first line of dialogue without having an emotional crisis, you can take a jellyfish and shove..."

 

A beam of light fell upon Squidward and SpongeBob, and Squilvia's tentacle sealed Squidward's lips. The usher, a walrus whose whiskers bristled over his tusks, asked, "Is there a problem here?"

 

"No, no," sputtered Squilvia. "They'll be quiet." The walrus nodded and turned off the flashlight. Squilvia released Squidward's lips, giving him a push away from her.

 

Keeping a firm hold on SpongeBob's lips, Squidward tried to focus on enjoying the show. His enjoyment was interrupted by another familiar sound, one he could not blame on SpongeBob. The voice onstage was unmistakable. "I don't know. But I can't sit by silently while the rest of you vote to send a young man to the anchor. Let's talk about this."

 

"SQUILLIAM FANCYSON?" Squidward shouted, jolting upright in his seat as if he had been struck by the harpoon, releasing SpongeBob. Pleased to have his mouth back, the sponge licked his lips and made water kisses.

 

There was that beam of light again, from the walrus usher's flashlight. Squilvia grabbed Squidward's neck and pulled him down into his seat to quiet him. "Ma'am, if your party has one more outburst, I will have to ask all of you to leave."

 

"This is no party for _me_. And these two barnacle heads will not trouble you anymore," she assured him. He turned off his flashlight, pointing the handle at Squidward, then at SpongeBob before returning to his post.

 

Still holding Squidward's neck, Squilvia leaned in to whisper to him. "Yes, Squilliam Fancyson. What about him?"

 

"Only that he's an overrated, bourgeois hack, just like in high school."

 

Squilvia's eyes widened. "You went to school with Squilliam Fancyson? _The_ Squilliam Fancyson?"

 

_Fantastic, the snail's out of the shell now._

 

"What is he like?" Squilvia squeaked. "Has he always had the unibrow? Did he have to work to master his craft, or was he just a prodigy? And the rumors. Are... are they true?"

 

"He's full of shrimp, throws his family's money around, and calls it talent. I don't know what rumors you mean, but the unibrow is old news. Does that answer your questions?"

 

She gave him the first genuine smile he had seen from her all evening. Too bad it was a smirk. "Oh, I get it. You are so jealous!"

 

"Oh please," he huffed. "I just hate him, that's all."

 

"Well, if you 'hate' him so much, why did you buy tickets to the show he's starring in? Is your head full of chum?"

 

SpongeBob inserted himself between them. "Don't talk to him like that! You're lucky he's giving you the time of day."

 

He glared at her, but she was too busy glaring at Squidward to notice. Squidward definitely noticed this, but had a glare of his own for SpongeBob. Simultaneously, each whispered harshly: "Listen up, you will not ruin this for me!"

 

SpongeBob's scowl curled into a smile. "Triple jinx! D'hahahahahahaha!"

 

"That does it. You are outta here," said the walrus, who tucked SpongeBob under his flipper.

 

"Ha, g'bye holey terror!" Squidward gave SpongeBob a coy wave, then he turned to Squilvia. "Hole-y terror. See what I did there? He's a sponge."

 

"That goes double for you," said the walrus, tucking Squidward under his other flipper.

 

Squilvia's skin changed to more closely match the color and texture of her seat, coming as close to disappearing as she could. She looked up at the walrus, eyes suddenly soft and sympathetic. "Please!"

 

The walrus softened as well. "Okay, you can stay. I can see you are a true lover of the arts."

 

"Hey!" Squidward protested, squirming. "I'll have you know I..."

 

"And I can see that these two shouldn't be your problem. Enjoy the show," said the walrus, carrying the two outside and plopping them down on the sidewalk. Squidward stood and brushed himself off before staring gloomily at his reflection in the glass window. _Something's missing. Something_ _ **besides**_ _my dignity._ His gaze rose to his bare head. "Wait, where's my hair?" He ran a tentacle across the green skin before heaving a sigh and slinking off to his boat. "Oh, who cares. No one gets a third date after a debacle like that."

 

He got in and sat for a few moments with his forehead resting on the steering wheel. So much for finding love.

 

"Squidward?" Depleted of all feeling other than hopelessness, Squidward turned to see SpongeBob standing next to the passenger door of the boat. "Umm, I'm sorry if this is a bad time, but... do you mind if I ride home with you?" Wordlessly, Squidward turned on the boat, backed out of the parking space, and sailed off. "Okay, buddy. See ya tomorrow!" SpongeBob waved at the boat until it disappeared, then started his walk home, taking in the evening sea.

 

Later that night, the audience emerged from the theatre. Squilvia had all but forgotten that the evening had begun as an ill-fated date. "Squilliam Fancyson is an exquisite method actor. His emotional range, the conviction in his voice... Brilliantly evocative." Not having a ride home did not dampen her spirits; the walk home wasn't terribly long, and the organic grocery was on the way.

 

With her basket nearly filled, Squilvia eyed the packets of seeds near the checkout. "Should I try rose bulb anemones or Haitian reef?" She skimmed the information on the back of each. "Well, neither one can be as disappointing as the white plumes."

 

"White-plumed anemones, eh? They are a challenging sort."

 

Squilvia turned to find herself face to face with: "Squilliam Fancyson?"

 

"Guilty. Or should I say, not guilty?" He leaned an elbow against the display case. "You were at my performance tonight. I couldn't help but notice you."

 

"Yes, I was. You were amazing!" She nearly melted right there. Regaining her composure, she added, "You... you grow anemones?"

 

"I do. If you want, I could show you a thing or two." He held up a pouch of white-plumed anemone seeds.

 

"That sounds... amazing." Squilvia was annoyed that her vocabulary was failing her, but it didn't matter. She was getting into Squilliam Fancyson's limousine.

 


	3. Salty Dreams


    _Wha? Where am I?_ It looked like his upstairs gallery, but felt much larger. The walls even displayed several self-portraits he had envisioned but knew he hadn't gotten around to painting yet. Although he noticed their presence, it did not strike him as odd. _It's more glorious than ever!_ Squidward clasped his tentacles and approached the nearest wall for a better look.  
     
    
    He stopped, recognizing one of his earlier works, a surreal piece depicting himself in the fetal position inside a clarinet's tone hole ring. _Hmmm. Engraved gold object labels. These just scream "class." Except something so classy would vocalize, not scream._ This label read "ReBbirth", a title with which he was still quite pleased even years later. _Acrylic on canvas. Produced during the artist's aquamarine period._ When he breathed in, he felt like a bubble beginning its ascent. _Wow, I'm "the artist"!_

 

He turned slowly to admire all of his works. It was then that his gaze drifted through a doorway into an adjoining room. There, on the opposite wall, was carefully placed lighting surrounding a hanging curtain. _I wonder which of my pieces it could be?_ He approached it, trying not to disturb the silence too much with the sound of his suction cups. Upon reaching it, the painting seemed to have expanded to fill the entire wall. Glancing over his shoulder cautiously, he then grasped the edge of the curtain to peek behind it.

 

"Mr. Tentacles?"

 

"Gah!" He released the curtain and pressed his back against the blank wall, his breathing rapid and shallow. The voice had sounded so nearby, but he could not see anyone. "Who is it? Who's there?"

 

"It's your curator, of course! The Bikini Bottom Art Society is here for the grand unveiling of your mind-blowing masterpiece!"

 

That did strike him as odd. _"Mind-blowing?" What curator worth his sea salt would describe a masterpiece as "mind-blowing?" One better suited to bubble-blowing, if you ask me._ But then he thought of the Bikini Bottom Art Society. _I knew one day they would come to their senses! "Don't call us; we'll call you," they said. It was only a matter of time._

 

"Mr. Tentacles?"

 

"Yes! I mean, yes, please show them in."

 

In they came: ladies wearing ball gowns and pearls, and gentlemen in clean black tuxedos. He tried to stand up on his own four feet, away from the wall, and project confidence. The curator stepped forward and handed Squidward a microphone. "Would you care to say a few words for your adoring fans?"

 

_Adoring fans!_ He didn't get a good look at the curator as he accepted the microphone, being too consumed with attending to his audience. All he saw was a flash of blue eyes behind batting lashes.

 

The crowd went silent. "Ah..." Squidward tugged on his collar as he wracked his brain for something to say. _Come on, Squiddy. What could possibly be behind that curtain?_ "Uh, thank you, and welcome to the grand unveiling of... Right, he already told you that. Well, this piece is a raw and visceral depiction of the unknown self within the self. Note how the sweeping brush strokes connote liberation from the mundane. Without further ado, I present... um..." he scoured the wall for the gold label but could not see it.

 

There was a tap on his shoulder and a whisper in his ear. "Blooming on Chalice Coral."

 

"Blooming on Chalice Coral." With that, he pulled down the curtain, which landed on top of his curator, who now looked like a red velvet box.

 

The gasp from the audience was so powerful that it nearly created a whirlpool. Squidward's heart stopped. He turned. _Oh my cod._ From floor to ceiling hung a painting of Squidward, reclined on a purpley-blue coral formation (which brought out his skin's blue undertones beautifully). His head rested on one hand; his gaze drifted off into the distance as in a daydream. His other arm lay along his side, following the shape of his body. Two of his tentacles were placed on the coral, knees gently bent. The other two tentacles draped off the coral bed, intertwining with the seagrass below. The nudity itself did not come as a surprise to him; his "Life Study of Octopus" series was likely to enter the triple digits one day. It was that rather than artistically covering his private parts, nothing was left to the imagination here.

 

He felt the urge to cross his legs, even though he was fully covered by his tuxedo. _Where is that curtain?_ Getting the curtain back into place would be easier said than done, especially since his curator had worked it into an impromptu toga and was skipping away in it. The Art Society's silence was punctured by murmurs. _How is this my life?_ Squidward covered his face.

 

"It is avant-garde while harkening back to Michelanglero!" announced an orange fish.

 

"What?" Squidward peeked between his suction cups.

 

A lobster wearing a monocle proclaimed, "Clearly an acerbic commentary on our postmodernist ideals."

 

The audience gathered closer to the canvas, not with rallying cries and implements of destruction, but with:

 

"I took it more as the juxtaposition of virility and vulnerability," another fish argued.

 

_Art commentary! Critical acclaim!_

 

"This is his best and boldest creation since 'Bold and Brash'!"

 

Lively discussion picked up, and out came cameras, wallets, and autograph books. A willowy, mature blue fish wearing a pantsuit and a whole counter's worth of jewelry approached him. "I knew it was art from the aquiline curve of the nose. The daring display of the phallus makes it _haute couture_! I simply must have it for my _salon_."

 

"Really?" he squealed. _I can't wait to make sure everybody knows that my art graces a critic's salon._

 

"Certainly. And money is no object!" She gestured to several fish, each of whom opened a briefcase stuffed with stacks of cash. "The only caveat is..."

 

_What? What!??!? For the love of Neptune, don't take this away from me._

 

"I can't quite see your signature," she fretted, squinting at the tiny ink squiggle in the corner. "For such a seminal work, it is imperative that the world know the name of its creator! Please, do the art world the service of signing your name so all can see." She reached into her lavish Conch handbag and retrieved a pen.

 
    
    
    The excitement felt like electric eels swimming through Squidward's veins as every member of the Bikini Bottom Art Society hurried to snap a picture of him signing his portrait. Looking up dreamily at himself, he began to feel a rush at the thought of being stared at in a state of arousal. He put the pen to the white sand, and signed his name in elaborate swirls. But as he turned the "s" in "Tentacles" into a whimsical underline, the ink gushed out. Everything suddenly went black.
    

"Mmm... mmmmm..." Even though he was unable to see anything, his hips knew they needed to push and his tentacles to squeeze.

 

Squidward's eyes fluttered, and he removed his sleep mask. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was 7:46 am. Usually, he was startled awake at 8 by the blaring foghorn next door, struggled to capture a few more moments of rest, then dragged himself out of bed, allowing barely enough time for a shower and showing up to work late. But today, his mind was as clear as the morning waters lapping against his window. He stretched luxuriously. "If only I slept so well every night." He gazed lovingly on his clarinet, tucked into bed beside him, mouthpiece resting on a small pillow. "Let's start the day with a couple of my original compositions, followed by tea and toast points, and a warm shower."

 

He pulled back the covers and stood, but stopped suddenly. _That's strange._ Between his legs, he felt a stickiness and trickling. He hurried to his nearest full-length mirror and looked himself over. Cautiously lifting the hem of his nightshirt, he discovered trails of white and black on his legs.

 

Then the memory of his dream flooded back to him. The praise, the fame, the painting. Disgusted with himself, he wiped his legs, only to notice more black ink on the back of his nightshirt. "It's bad enough to have such a vulgar reaction to erotic art. Why in Neptune's blue sea does ink have to be part of it? Sure, ink has its uses, when it's not causing me to be utterly humiliated. Of course." Pulling back his duvet, he found small puddles of drying ink.

 

"If beds were meant for dreams like that, there wouldn't be 500-thread count feather algae bedsheets." He pouted at the ink spots on the sheet. "Those may never come out. There goes four months-worth of paychecks." Grumbling, he pulled the sheet from the mattress, still taking care not to disturb his clarinet. At the bathroom sink, he scrubbed and lathered and rinsed and wrung, finally fading the ink spots to near invisibility. It was an accomplishment, but it did not improve his mood, especially given the time to dwell on his botched evening with Squilvia. He draped the sheet over the bathroom door to clean off.

 

There wasn't time for music or toast points, only for his morning ritual. After tossing his nightshirt in the laundry basket, he turned on the shower. When the room was warm and steamy, he stepped in. "Ahh," he sighed, massaging his face with sea cucumber extract and going a little heavier on the body wash than usual. On lonely nights at home when the need arose, he took care of business as swiftly as possible in the shower, usually while making eye contact with his reflection in the mirror. Not only did this give him the benefit of being able to immediately clean himself, but confined to his bathroom, satisfying himself could be grouped with other socially undesirable bodily functions and kept shut away. Where they belonged.

 

"So refreshing," he breathed, stepping out of the shower with one towel around his waist and one around his head. Resting his hands on the sink, Squidward looked at his reflection. His contented almost-smile disappeared. "Just in time to get covered with grease and ketchup. Hoo. Rah."

 


	4. Bitter Anemone

A warm current swirled outside the Krusty Krab. The day's shift was drawing to a close. SpongeBob reluctantly put away his spatula. "Aww. Grilling time is over." Then he turned around and saw his cleaning supplies. His face brightened and he squealed, "But cleaning time is about to begin! Woo hoo!" He burst out of the kitchen and set to work on the tables and floors.

 

Not a second after the final customer was out the door, Mr. Krabs ripped the cash register open, nearly tripping over Squidward, who was curled up behind the counter with _The Old Marlin and the Sand_ , his book club's selection for the month. "What are you doing?" Squidward demanded with a shriek. "You almost stepped on my perfectly pedicured tentacles."

 

"That'll happen when yer booty gets between me and me booty!" Unable to wait, Mr. Krabs began to count the day's haul as he scuttled to his office.

 

Squidward stood and watched the seaweed waving outside, beckoning him out of his minimum wage prison and home to an evening of indulgence. _And I have the day off tomorrow! Sweet, sweet relaxation._ He emerged from behind the counter, ready to take his leave, when his quiet anticipation gave way to surprise. Sailing past the restaurant was a lavishly decorated carriage, drawn by a pair of fine seahorses. And who should be seated in the carriage, but Squilvia. Could it be that even after all that had happened the night before, she was here to pick him up for an elegant evening?

 

SpongeBob noticed Squidward's warm gaze, and returned it, beaming and waving. "Hold on, Squidward. Let me finish these tables, then we can... walk home... together." Squidward strolled right past him.

 

"Not a chance. I don't know what's in store for me tonight, but it's sure to be too fabulous for the likes of you." Squidward considered the possibilities. _Hmmm, could it be a wine tasting? Ballroom dancing, perhaps?_

 

SpongeBob turned to look out the window. "Oh, I see! You're probably right. Have fun on your date!" he said with a wink before returning to a stubborn spot on the table. Every moment in the sponge’s life was an adventure. Now he could look forward to catching up with Squidward later in the evening. “Maybe after, we could have a boys’ night in. What fun!”

 

Before SpongeBob could trap him with a series of questions or bits of information, Squidward dashed out the door. “It must be a very special night,” sighed SpongeBob wistfully. “I'm happy for him. Happy he got things smoothed over with his lady friend. Happy.” No matter how many times he said the word “happy,” it didn't quite take. He dipped himself into his bucket of window cleaner and pressed himself up against the front window. At least he could enjoy two of his favorite activities at once: cleaning the Krusty Krab and watching Squidward! The latter was never more fun than when Squidward shed some of his sullen exterior and appeared to feel a little of the joy that the sponge could absorb from almost anything. “I just wish I could put that sparkle in his eyes.”

 

The carriage had pulled to a stop on the street in front of the Krusty Krab. Squilvia was stepping out, but as she did so, Squidward could see that she was not alone. Following her, with a bouquet of rare flowers in hand, was Squilliam. Squidward could only stare as his longtime rival spun Squilvia in close, very close. Blood boiling, Squidward marched up to the pair. Before he could breathe a word, Squilliam and Squilvia broke their kiss. As Squilvia turned to walk home, she bumped right into Squidward.

 

Moments ago, his mind was a raging riptide spouting ways to tell off the two. Now that his chance had come, he had lost his nerve. So many times he perfectly choreographed an event in his mind, but never did things end up following his mind’s lead. "S-S-Sq..."

 

"Squidward?" Squilvia went scarlet, matching her dress and the flowers in her hand.

 

"Yes. So you do remember me," Squidward's sarcasm only masked some of the hurt.

 

Squilliam shot a smug look at Squidward. But when the ashamed octopus in the middle of it all looked to Squilliam for support, he gave her a sympathetic look and rubbed her shoulders. When her back was turned once again, he resumed his gloating.

 

"I'm sorry, Squidward. I was out shopping when... Mr. Fancyson graciously offered to show me his ornamental horticulture techniques for my anemones." She looked fondly at the blooms and then at Squilliam.

 

"No one knows anemone like Squilliam," grumbled Squidward. "May I have the pleasure of walking you home, my dear?" He was not ready to give up ship yet.

 

Squilvia continued to look uncomfortable. "I think I'd prefer..."

 

"Say no more," Squidward interrupted coolly.He held up his book, pointing to the author's picture on the back of the jacket. "I wouldn't want to be a third wheel if you run into Ernest Herringway and he offers you a 'writers' workshop'."

 

"Enough," Squilvia spat, fed up. "I can see why you were voted most likely to suck eggs in high school." Paying no more mind to Squidward, she wished Squilliam goodnight. Making a shell phone motion with her hand, she mouthed the words: "Call me." After planting a kiss on his cheek, she headed home to plant the anemones in her garden.

 

Squidward watched her go in silence until he heard Squilliam again. "Awkward."

 

He turned and marched himself over to Squilliam until they were nearly nose to nose. "You!"

 

Shock, rage, and embarrassment were taking over. The evening’s choreography was falling apart. "Do you get some sick pleasure out of taking everything from me?" Taking a swing at Squilliam was tempting, but the suspicious glare of the carriage driver, a robust moray eel, made him think better of it.

 

Squilliam sneered. "Tsk tsk tsk. Poor Squiddy. I can't imagine how you must feel." He paused, softened, then continued. "I really can't! No one has ever been able to resist the Fancyson charm." He shoved Squidward aside and got into his carriage.

 

"If you think I'm going to..." Squidward made a move to follow Squilliam, but was suddenly pulled upwards by the moray's hand on his collar.

 

"Mr. Fancyson does not take kindly to harassment. And neither do I."

 

Squidward chuckled nervously, hoping to be released before Squilliam could add injury to insult.

 

"That'll do, Maurice," said Squilliam, with a cavalier wave of the wrist. "I'll be the bigger cephalopod and give him a ride home. He must be exhausted from slinging greasy burgers all day."

 

As Maurice plopped him down in the seat across from Squilliam, Squidward crossed his arms and hissed, "I don't need your charity."

 

"But I insist. My mansion will still be there after I take you home." To Maurice, he ordered, "To Conch Street. It will be the Moai shack on the right." Although the trip was a short one, to Squidward, it seemed to drag on for miles. In silence, he seethed, trying to avoid the eye of Squilliam.

 


	5. Big and Valuable

 

 

With a whinny, the seahorses slowed to a stop. Squilliam stood and gestured for Squidward to go. Squidward stormed up to his door, digging in his pocket for his key. As he opened the door, Squilliam brushed past him and into Squidward's living room.

 

"What do you think you're doing?" Squidward shrieked, preparing to chase after him, only to be pulled back by the collar once again. And once again, he was eye-to-eye with the moray.

 

"You got sand in your ears? When you stalk Mr. Fancyson, you're cruisin' for a bruisin'."

 

Squidward was indignant. "Stalking? _He's_ in _my_ house!"

 

Above, a window creaked open, and Squilliam peeked out. "At ease, Maurice. I'm sure Squidward would be all too willing to show me around. Perhaps talk things out, _mollusca e mollusca_?"

 

"If you insist," growled Squidward through clenched teeth. _I'd like to show him the distance from that window to the ground._

 

"In that case," Squilliam continued, "Enjoy an hour for yourself; it's on me." Squilliam retrieved a pouch of gold coins from his smoking jacket and tossed it to Maurice.

 

The moray placed Squidward on the doorstep and gave him a warning glare as he returned to the carriage to tend to the seahorses.

 

Squidward went inside and closed the door behind him. He saw a trail of opened drawers and upset knick-knacks, evidence of Squilliam’s snooping. “Look at this. He’s nearly as destructive as SpongeBob!” Squidward attempted straighten up the chaos Squilliam had left when he heard Squilliam exclaim from upstairs. No sooner had he heard this than Squidward darted up the stairs, following the sound of Squilliam's suction cups. He burst through the doorway to his personal gallery to find Squilliam evaluating the artwork with a highly critical eye.

 

"Shameful. The only place I would consider hanging this is in my dumbwaiter." Squilliam held up a painting of Squidward serving coffee in a retro diner. He put the painting down and approached Squidward, gesturing towards the Krusty Krab name tag and hat. "Only fitting for art to imitate life, am I right?"

 

Squidward had fully expected to unleash his growing resentment with ease when Squilliam was no longer flanked by his entourage of acquaintances and hired help. But it was not so. Standing face to face with his rival was as intimidating as ever.

 

"What," he gasped. It was more of a sigh than a question. "What do you want from me? You've already got it all." Squidward tried in vain to hide the desperation in his voice. It wasn't possible. Not since Squilliam had resurfaced, ostensibly seeking to continue the rivalry begun in high school.

 

Squilliam snorted a laugh. "I'm only making a social call to an old… chum.”

 

“Oh sure. If ‘a social call’ means inviting yourself into my home and taking it upon yourself to criticize everything in your path.”

 

“It's my way of giving back to those less fortunate. And don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me. I won’t tell anyone that you drown your sorrows in boxed kelp wine. Or that your hair regrowth treatments leave something to be desired. Or, judging by your medicine cabinet, you seem to have a real problem with irregular…”

 

Squidward crossed his arms. “Drop the act. We both know you don’t care about the less fortunate. Besides, I don’t see any hair on your head, either.”

 

“ _Au contraire, mon frère_. This is a cut to emphasize my unibrow.” Squilliam ran a tentacle across his head, where stubble was beginning to reappear. “I’m thinking of growing it out. But you want to know why I keep coming back?”

 

“Enlighten me.” _Maybe if I find out what he’s after, I can get rid of him._

 

“Remember the year our high school performed _The Music Minnow?_ ”

 

Squidward shrugged. “Yes. What about it?”

 

“I practiced day and night for weeks before auditioning,” Squilliam recalled, feeling the exertion he put into those weeks. “And who gets the lead role?”

 

With some thought, Squidward responded, “Finn Dolph.”

 

“Yes,” Squilliam continued. “But who served as his understudy and by some fluke got to play leading man Gerald Gill in two performances?”

 

“I learned his lines and blocking because I was the stage manager. You were offered a chance at being the stage manager, too.”

 

That only pushed Squilliam further. “Everyone in high school theatre knows that ‘stage manager’ is a euphemism for ‘not good enough for the spotlight’. I had better things to do with my time than open and close curtains; that’s what servants are for.”

 

Hearing his esteemed classmate express a word of envy was most unexpected. It seemed such a trivial occurrence for all the buildup Squilliam gave it. Squidward waited for the story to continue, but it did not. “Is that what this whole thing was about? I got to stand in as the lead in a high school performance?”

 

Suddenly jaunty again, Squilliam continued, "Of course not; that would be ridiculous. I was in the audience, and being young and unrefined, I almost admired you. Until then, I only knew you as the floundering third clarinetist. The way you strutted and preened on that stage is the reason I approached you." His voice went breathy. "Don't act like you've forgotten those nights at Make Out Reef. Especially, well..." Squidward suddenly seemed to have difficulty with his balance and controlling his limbs, nearly toppling over. "It's all coming back to you, is it? After that, it became so easy to get you riled up. Even more so when I became a huge success and you became a pathetic recluse." With Squidward staring at him, mouth agape, Squilliam polished his cufflinks. When he finished, he broke the silence. "Don't you want a chance to show me your talents?"

 

 _Stand up to him, Squidward. Tell him to get out because there’s not enough room for his oversized head._ "I don't want to hold you up. I'm sure you must be eager to get home and coiffe your unibrow."

 

Squilliam gazed past Squidward to admire his unibrow in one of the mirrors on the opposite wall. "My unibrow, although very high-maintenance, can wait. I still haven't seen any of the chic interior designing that you've been raving about."

 

He led the way down the hall with Squidward trailing nervously behind. _What else will his majesty find to gripe about?_ Squidward wondered.

 

In a flurry of bubbles, Squilliam flung open the door to Squidward's bedroom. With pride slowly creeping back into his voice, Squidward explained, "I was going for Art Deco with a dash of Feng Shui. Observe the symmetry, which creates a refined and peacef..."

 

"What is that?" Squilliam interrupted. He approached the bed and partially pulled back the covers, revealing Squidward's clarinet lying on one side of the bed, mouthpiece resting on its own tiny pillow. "You... sleep with your clarinet? This is a new low, even for you."

 

"Ah... I... Heh..." His faithful instrument had occupied one side of the bed for so many nights that it -- no, SHE -- did not seem out of place in the least. "You know how it is. Late nights. Sometimes I'm just in the mood for a little music."

 

Squilliam sat on the edge of the bed and made himself comfortable. "That's what you call it?" he murmured suggestively, leaning forward.

 

"I don't like your tone. What else would I call it?" Petulant, Squidward stood with his hands on his hips, but he felt increasingly defensive as Squilliam moved the clarinet to the night stand and lay supine.

 

"Whatever you do to that poor instrument probably explains why your so-called music sounds like a dying animal. Let's be honest, Squiddy. Everyone under the sea has heard my music and seen my art. Being able to buy a private yacht, private island, a balloon/casino, and a stable of pedigreed seahorses is all fine and good." He sighed, relishing his posh lifestyle. "But that's not the only perk. I never have to be alone in my bed." Gesturing to his unibrow, he added, “This isn't the only thing that's big and valuable.”


	6. Tour de Farce

At least as famous as Squilliam's artistic pursuits was his pursuit of bedmates. The millionaire did not trouble himself about whether his partners had fins, flippers, or tentacles; nor did he seem to care whether they answered to Miss, Missus, or according to the tabloids, Sir. Any attractive creature who could be drawn in for a night of opulent pleasure was good enough for Squilliam.  
  
Squidward gave a dismissive flip of his wrist. "Oh, right. When I think of wealth and glamour, I think of being breathed on and covered in..." He suppressed the need to gag. "In someone else's..." He couldn't make himself say it.  
  
"Sweat? Fluids? And feeling someone's body moving against yours?" Squilliam sat up and ran a hand's suction cups along Squidward's arm.  
  
Recoiling, Squidward shuddered. "Yes. That. Are you quite finished oversharing your bedroom activities?"  
  
Squilliam's voice was suddenly gentle. "I am. Why don't you tell me about yours?"  
  
Squidward had taken more than enough intrusion from his old classmate already that night. Now Squilliam was attempting to pry into his most intimate matters. "Mine?" He felt himself heat up. After years of being single and denying his urges in favor of his art, he had hoped that Squilvia would transform from his muse into his true love, but it wasn't to be. She had proven to be fickle, another victim of Squilliam's seductive charm and riches. No, he needed someone who was worthy. His body was his private grotto, and he protected it from anyone who might do him harm, awaiting the day he was ready to reveal it. His defenses rose again. "I don't need to give you details."  
  
His guest took a long look at him in silence. Then Squilliam sneered and spoke. "Oh, Squiddy," purred Squilliam, kneeling on the bed so that the two were face to face. "I knew you were a priss in high school, but I expected you to loosen up eventually." He took Squidward by the arms and pulled him closer. "Still a virgin. My, that is precious!"  
  
Squidward struggled, wanting only to get away from Squilliam and his judgement. “Let go!” He writhed, but the suction cups held fast.  
  
The visible discomfort in Squidward’s face and body interested Squilliam so much that he had a hard time letting go. With many conquests of students and admirers over the years, Squilliam had never received such resistance. Some combination of his fame, his riches, his looks, or his charisma had made each one yield to him readily. His former classmate's refusal to give in ignited Squilliam's desire to take.  
  
Squidward attempted to free himself by pushing against the bed with one of his legs, accidentally getting it wound up in Squilliam's belt. One side of Squilliam's jacket fell open. Squidward did not know where to look, so he shut his eyes.  
  
"No need to be afraid," teased Squilliam, pulling Squidward onto the bed. Leaning in, Squilliam whispered, "Getting more familiar with the nude form might actually help you develop as an artist." He planted a kiss on Squidward's neck. Kneeling over him, Squilliam used two tentacles to hold Squidward down while two other tentacles glided up his legs, trying to part them.  
  
Feeling Squilliam's insistent appendages pressing against him, Squidward's eyes fluttered open. "No! Stop it!" he wailed. His fear of humiliation mingled with the fear of his guest's intentions. This can't be happening. I couldn't! No matter how hot he is... no, not... not with him... Like his tentacles were tangled up with Squilliam's, his stomach seemed to be twisting ever tighter. Unable to help himself, his ink enveloped them in deep purple. But this defense mechanism would not be enough to get himself free; tentacles still held him tight.  
  
As the water around them began to clear, Squilliam slapped Squidward across the face. "I've barely touched you." Flustered, Squilliam released Squidward's arms, vaulted up, and stood before the mirror to collect himself, tie his belt, and slick his unibrow. He did not take his eyes off the reflection of Squidward, who lay on the bed catching his breath.  
  
“Thank you,” Squidward spat, quickly trying to wipe himself clean of ink without Squilliam noticing.  
  
He noticed. “Disgusting! No wonder you've never gotten laid.” He knew he was exaggerating, but if Squidward wouldn't give him what he wanted, and he couldn't take what he wanted, he would have to apply some pressure of a different kind. Under his breath, he pondered, “Hmm, how I love the thrill of the chase. And I didn’t get where I am by turning down a challenge!” As he straightened his ascot, the sparkle of his tie pin caught his eye.  
  
“Could we please move on from my personal life and sleeping arrangements?”  
  
“Of course.” Squilliam had bigger fish to fry. “How about discussing my upcoming concert tour?” He leaned against the bedpost.  
  
Still shaken, Squidward kept his distance. “I was thinking more along the lines of you leaving.” Squilliam furrowed his brow and jutted out his lip, but Squidward was having none of it. Bullshrimp, fancy boy. You have so little experience with disappointment, you can't even fake it. "Fine, I'll humor you. Brag it up, then get out."  
  
Instantly, Squilliam's caricature of disappointment faded away. "You always humor me." He leaned over the bed towards Squidward, who flinched and backed away. Squilliam continued, "So, after my engagement with '12 Angry Jellyfish' ends this month, I will be touring the seven seas with Kelpy G and Stingray Charles. What a thrill; making millions just for sharing my music in a jazz trio!"  
  
"How nice for you."  
  
"Squidward, aren't you happy for me?"  
  
"Happy you're leaving town, if that's what you mean. I'll be positively elated."  
  
"That's too bad. I'll miss seeing you while I'm on the road. Unless I put on the recording for me and the boys."  
  
"Recording?" That smirk on his face spells trouble. "What recording?"  
  
"Oh, just the recording I made tonight to test out my new tie pin camera." Squilliam puffed out his chest and pointed to the pin in the center of his ascot. "Say hello, Squiddy!"  
  
Squidward stepped closer cautiously, like a wild rabbitfish. He inspected the tie pin: flat, black, and shiny like a little lens. With a gulp he sputtered, "Heh, um... Hi, tie pin camera."  
  
"Not even on the market yet, but being in show business, I have my connections." With a flourish of his monogrammed silk handkerchief, he polished the small surface. "And I think those connections would get a kick out of your performance this evening."  
  
There was no hiding the desperation in his voice. "Now... now, Squilliam, no one has to know about any of this."  
  
"You're right.” Holding his tie pin up like a microphone, Squilliam continued, “I suppose no one has to know that you sleep with your clarinet because you haven't been able to get anyone with a pulse into bed with you. And let's not forget that you ink yourself at the thought of fucking." Noticing Squidward's deep blush, Squilliam nestled his tie pin back into his ascot and changed his tone. "Why not share your gifts with the world instead? I mean, what could be better than a jazz trio except perhaps... a jazz quartet?" Still holding onto the bed frame, Squilliam motioned towards the clarinet on the night stand.  
  
Bristling with suspicion, Squidward narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"  
  
"I'm saying I could bring your hopes and dreams back to life, Squiddy. Stingray, Kelpy, me... and you. And all this recording business could just go away." Squidward stared from Squilliam, to the tie pin, and back again. Squilliam inched closer, but took care to keep his tentacles to himself. “Before I leave on tour, let me treat you to a night of riches and sophistication beyond your wildest dreams!”  
  
“Riches! Sophistication! That sounds... too good to be true. Do I have to be your indentured servant for the next five years?”  
  
“No, I had something mutually beneficial in mind. Come home with me afterwards. I can help you with your little problem. Make it worth my while, and it's welcome aboard the seven seas tour!”  
  
“Me? On a real, SpongeBob-free tour? And I would like a night out to be fancy,” Squidward answered, dreamy with visions of top hats and tails. I'd also like to know what those sculpted abs feel like. Oh, what am I thinking? This has 'disaster' written all over it. Hearing the snorting of seahorses outside, another thought disrupted his fantasy. “But what about Squilvia? I thought you two were a hot item now.”  
  
“Squilvia?” Squilliam waved his hands. “No. A bit of fun, nothing more.”  
  
That was not encouraging. “I was romancing her, and you swoop in just to hurt us both. Classy, Fancyson.”  
  
“You're so naïve. Squilvias come and go. This is different! We have a history, you and I.”  
  
"I've learned from that history, and I don't intend to repeat it."  
  
Squilliam shrugged. "Well then, I gather you won't mind everyone in the ocean seeing this." He gestured to his tie pin.   
  
"You're sick!" shrieked Squidward.  
  
"I appreciate your concern, but I haven't felt this good since... well, last night." Glancing out the window, Squilliam noticed that his driver and carriage had returned. "It's been a real treat chatting with you, Squiddy, but I should be going." He breezed past Squidward and down the stairs.  
  
"Squilliam!" Squidward scrambled after him, hoping he could somehow suggest, convince, persuade, negotiate, implore, plead, grovel... anything to put an end to Squilliam's machinations. "Let's talk about this over a glass of..." He reached out to grab for Squilliam's jacket, but froze on his front doorstep when he caught sight of the moray eel.  
  
"Squiddy dearest," sighed Squilliam, resting an arm on the doorframe. "You're the one who wanted me to leave after discussing my upcoming concert tour. Now you just can't get enough of me? What an effect I must have."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself," Squidward growled. Keeping his voice low to hide his desperation, he added, "There must be something else I can do to change your mind."  
  
Squilliam cast his eyes over Squidward's home. "All your worldly possessions don't add up to a hill of sand. There's only one thing you can give me that has any value." Squilliam left Squidward speechless in the doorway and climbed into his carriage. The seahorses tossed their heads and pulled the carriage down the road and faded into the distance.  
  
Now Squidward was the one who felt sick. Leaving the door wide open, he retreated to his den and collapsed on the couch, one arm draped theatrically over his eyes. “If that video gets out, I'll be ruined!" Even more so than usual. He sat up and inhaled, deep meditative breaths. He contorted his face into a smile. "It's going to be alright. With a level head and my way with words, I'll be able to reason with him." The smile disappeared. He threw himself down and pounded his fists into the floor until they bruised. "I gotta get that video!"


	7. Mission Squidpossible

"Unh unh urrngh!"

Squidward raised his head and found himself nose to nose with... "SpongeBob? What are you doing?"

Spongebob was kneeling with his hands flat on the tile, mirroring Squidward. "I thought we were playing Patty Floor. Like Patty Cake, except you play with the floor. I invented it to cheer myself up if a patty falls on the floor at work." He rose up on his knees and started to play. "Patty floor, patty floor, let's have some fun! And put that Krabby Patty back on the bun!"

Suppressing his gag reflex, Squidward groaned, "And you ask me how I stay thin."

"Don't worry. Only one in every 317 or so comes from the patty floor. Next time you hear me crying in the kitchen, just come on back and play! It's even better with two."

"Crying in the kitchen?"

"No, Squidward! Playing Patty Floor! It's a good thing I could stop by to play. You looked so sad when Squilliam left." SpongeBob took Squidward's face in his hand. "But fret not! I heard him say, 'I'll give Squiddy a good seeing-to!'" SpongeBob's impression of Squilliam was a little too on-point. "D'hahahahaha! He must have something really fun planned for you."

By now, Squidward no longer looked sad. He looked like a bomb about to detonate. "Listen hole-head, until you have even the tiniest bit of insight into my predicament, go play your game in traffic."

SpongeBob clasped Squidward's hand in his. "But you can tell me anything! I'll always be there for you." His eyes sparkled as a film of tears was building.

As usual, he yanked his arm away. "I know. That's the problem. You are always there. Always there to wreck everything, just like you wrecked my evening with Squilvia!" He got up, attached his suction cups to the top of SpongeBob's head, and rolled him out the door like a bowling ball. Except SpongeBob rolled about as well as a square bowling ball would, making it barely outside the door. Glaring down at the sponge, Squidward added, "I don't need you making this any worse. Get out of my house," and at the top of his lungs, "Get out of my life!" The door slammed shut, sending up a shower of bubbles.

For a moment as fleeting as a bubble popping, SpongeBob's insides wrung tight with guilt. But he didn't allow himself to dwell on it. "Hmm, Squidward really cares about Squilliam. There must be something I can do! I owe it to Squidward to set this right." Determined, he smacked a fist into his open hand, which hurt a little. "I must get a tiny bit of in-something into his predica-whatty! But first, I better get the dictionary." He squeaked off home.

Squidward heaved a deep sigh as he heard the footsteps fade away. "Hmmph, serves me right for leaving the door open. I've had more than my share of intruders today."

With his house to himself at last, he rubbed his temples, trying to center himself to come up with a plan. Every line of thought spiked his anxiety. "Squilliam thinks he can back me into a corner. He's got another thing coming. This is blackmail! I have a mind to call the BBPD." He picked up the phone, but before he could dial, a tidal wave of previous run-ins with Bikini Bottom's "finest" swept through his memory. _Citations for littering simply for existing near garbage. Being hauled off to county jail for breaking Patrick's stupid game. And especially after I stepped in to teach music in Squilliam's place at the prestigious Jelliard, those fools will be all too happy to take his side._ He slammed the phone down. "No thank you! Justice may be blind, but it's also tasteless. I'll have to resolve this myself."

In silence, he plotted a course of action over a light dinner and camomile tea, and got ready for bed. Before turning out the lights, Squidward laid out a black sweater and cap. He set his alarm clock. He would need an early start, and he wasn't even going to work the next day.

The sun was beginning to pierce the water above as he crept into position. The light dazzled his eyes. It had been hard enough to rip himself out of bed before dawn, but now he was running out of time in the dark. _Get that tape. Then bask in the most peaceful sleep of your life._

Crouching inside a larger-than-life-size topiary of Squilliam, Squidward surveyed the mansion. Gardeners milled around the grounds. Seahorses grazed in their paddock. _How to get to his dressing room?_ The muscular moray was waxing Squilliam's limousine between a decorative fountain and the front entrance. _Trying the front door is out, since I'd like to keep all of my limbs._ Through the window in the side of the ground level tiki, he could see purple wallpaper and gold leaf trim. _If that's the "drawing room," the master bedroom would be right above it._ The current had been so nice that several of the upstairs windows were open, including the one in the side of the upper level tiki. It was his best hope.

Without a second thought, Squidward crept through the maze of coral hedges to the wall. He placed one foot on the cool stone, followed by another foot. Then, he reached as high as he could and pressed both palms onto the wall. Suction cup by suction cup, he crawled towards the open window. It wasn't long before his arms began to tire, and sweat made his tentacles slippery. He reached the long, rectangular ear of the ground level tiki. _If I could just pull myself up there... I could sit..._ Tentacles attached to the top of the ear, Squidward fought to drag his body up, but his muscles were already tense, unable to work any harder. He scoured the wall for anything else he could grab or sit on, but this only allowed him to look down the side of the wall to see how far up he was. "Damn acrophobia," he cursed weakly, trembling. He had gone too far to give up, but his fear climbed faster than he could.

He moved one foot down to retreat to the sea floor when he heard a voice from below. "Leaving so soon, Squiddy? I was just enjoying the view." Against his better judgement, Squidward looked down to see Squilliam, arms folded as if contemplating a work of art. Squidward was too frightened to speak, but descended the wall as quickly as he could. "Maurice!" called Squilliam, clapping to gain his valet's attention. "Maurice, be a good chap and assist Mr. Tentacles, would you?" The moray reached up, grabbed the shuddering octopus by the collar, and held him up for Squilliam's consideration.

"I... I was... just..." Squidward stammered, struggling to regain the power of speech.

"Just trying to sneak into my bedroom? You are an eager one! But I'm not like that. I'm a gentleman, and I want to wine and dine you first." Raising a tentacle to his lips thoughtfully, Squilliam went on. "Unless you were trying to sneak in to steal your big film debut. But that would be so naughty." He gave Squidward's cheek a pinch that looked more playful than it felt.

Once free, Squidward rubbed his cheek. "No. Of course... not."

"Oh good. Besides, you'll never find it in my mansion."

Maurice gave Squidward a shake. "What do ya want I should do with him, Mr. Fancyson?"

Squilliam took a step closer. "Well, Squiddy? What do you say to an evening out... followed by a night in?"

_Don't listen to him. He's out to get you like before._

Leaning in, Squilliam's voice was no louder than a breath. "Come on. Don't you want to finish what we started at the reef?"

That suggestion set fire to his central nervous system. _Exactly like before._

When Squidward did not answer, Squilliam shrugged. "That's too bad, really." He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal his Carpier watch, and made sure that Squidward could see that it was genuine. "Time is of the essence. The tour begins before you know it. It could include you, or... not."

_What is he playing at?_ Squidward tried to read the plan Squilliam was hiding behind those burgundy eyes. Looking into those eyes, there was no seeing past them. _Does he mean it? Or is he planning to use me only to invite me on tour, show the video and see me booed off stage? He won't have the pleasure._ "Today isn't good for me. I'm busy."

"I understand. The way you make that cash register sing is something very special! In that case, Maurice, you may escort my guest to his unskilled job."

"For your information, I will not be gracing the register with my presence today. I have some errands to run."

"When you finish those errands, let me know!" Squilliam snorted as Maurice placed Squidward in the back of the limousine. "On your way home, think of the ride as a sample of what I can offer you." He slammed the door before Squidward could respond.

As Maurice deftly curved the limo around the fountain to head towards the main road, he asked gruffly, "Where to? Conch Street, right?"

Squidward sighed, resting his chin on his tentacle and gazing out the window. The water was bright and crystalline, sun rays bouncing off every surface. The glass dome in the distance created exceptional reflections. "Actually," Squidward replied, "I have an errand to run at the treedome."


End file.
